I cry every night 'cause she's not you, Dean. I wake up from a bad dream, and I roll over looking for you, but it's her instead, and I cry, because it's not the same when she holds me. It's not the same when she tells me everything's okay, because it's not the truth. She can't protect me. She can't make me feel safe. Not like you. We sleep together, Dean, and I call her baby when I come so I don't have to say her name. So it never gets too personal. Because then it'd be too much like making love. Too much like you.